Cancer on Five Dollars a Day* *(chemo not included): How Humor Got Me through the Toughest Journey of My Life (23 page)

You might also say that cancer settled things between Vicki and me and brought Melissa and me together. Melissa and I talk about that. Sometimes I think we were just destined to be together, no matter what. I know this. Once we were a couple, we wanted to share everything in our lives, including children. Unfortunately, the doctors said that was out of the question. Even my biggest supporter, Dr. Mehldau, said it was never gonna happen. I was fifty-three, had one ball, and had undergone six months of intensive chemotherapy, which certainly zapped any fertility I had left in me.

Guess what? The doctors were wrong.

On June 5, 2003, three years to the
day
that I was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, we had a son.

In the hospital that day after holding Sam, then bathing him, and laying him on top of Melissa for his first feeding, I called Dr. Mehldau and asked him if he wanted to be the godfather of the kid he said I’d never have. He said he’d be delighted.

Melissa and I didn’t stop there. Two years later, our son Max was born. I was fifty-five, still one-balled, and still, thank God, bless Jesus, praise Allah, and love you, Buddha, cancer-free.

A late afternoon. Melissa, Sam, Max, and I are at the beach. They sit on the blanket. I walk along the shore. I toss pebbles into the ocean and sniff the salt air. Miniscule waves break softly over my bare feet.

The sun begins to set. I wave to Melissa and the kids. The kids race toward me. Melissa follows a few feet behind.

“Look at that,” I say. “Just look at that sunset.”

It’s a Technicolor masterpiece, a brilliant God painting. Neon oranges, blues, violets. We walk slowly, basking in the sunset. My hands encircle my sons’ tiny hands. Random squawks from distant seagulls and the whoosh from the waves are the only sounds. The colors from the sunset pour down on us, bathe us.

“This is unbelievable,” I say. “This is Paradise. It really is.” Melissa smiles, rests her head on my shoulder. There could not be a more perfect moment.

I plant one foot in the sand and step on a bee.

I scream at the top of my lungs.
“MOTHERFUCKERSONOFAFUCKINGSHITTT!!!”

I drop my sons’ hands and hop around, the bee sting cutting through my foot like a knife.

“SHIIIITTTTT!
I stepped on a fucking bee!”

“Don’t scream like that!” Melissa screams. “You’re scaring the kids!”

I glance at Sam and Max. They’re staring at me, not sure whether to laugh or cry.

“Shit!” I howl. “My foot!”

“Robert, stop it! We don’t want them to be afraid of bees,” Melissa says. “Daddy’s just playing.”

“I am not! Mother
fucker
!”

I plop down on the sand and pull my foot toward me so that I can examine the bottom. A two-inch bee stinger protrudes from the middle of my foot, poking up like a tiny flagpole. I grab it and yank it out.

I look at the collective faces of my family. Melissa’s, frowning, horrified, pissed; Max’s, stunned, scared; and Sam’s, vaguely amused. I shake my head and laugh.

“I’m okay,” I say. “I just stepped on a bee. It’s fine. No big deal. I have another foot.”

“Let’s help Daddy up,” Melissa says.

My family surrounds me. Melissa and Sam grab my hands and Max pushes me from behind and then I’m on my feet, walking slowly, limping slightly, dull pain throbbing along the bottom of my foot.

“I’ll live,” I say. “Scared the shit out of me, though.”

“Really?” Melissa says, and laughs. I tickle Sam and Max and now they’re giggling and running ahead of us. I drape an arm across Melissa’s shoulder and she weaves her fingers through mine. Clinging to each other, we walk along the shore as the sun starts to dip down below the horizon.

Well, there it is. The key to life in a nutshell:

Life is good. It really is.

But sometimes you get stung.

Some people who get stung on the beach will never go back. Before cancer, I might have been one of those people. I might’ve packed up my family and gotten the hell out of there. Getting stung would’ve ruined the rest of the day. No more. You have to learn to bounce back. Otherwise you could miss a beautiful sunset.

Life ain’t about the bee.

It’s about the beach.

There are so many people I would like to thank. I’m certain that I could fill a book with just those names. But in the midst of global warming, and the spirit of green living, I’ve limited myself to a pretty short list. So, if you aren’t mentioned, do not take it personally. Instead, find solace in the fact that you’re helping to save a tree and protect the environment.

My beautiful children: Jessica, Aliyah, Derek, Jacob, Sam, and Max. You all always bring so much laughter, joy, and love into my life.

My wife, Melissa, who appeared in my life just at the right moment and turned it upside down. There hasn’t been a day that goes by that you are not in my every heartbeat.

To Mom and Dad. For your unconditional love and support. And for getting me through the darkest days of my life by helping me see the light.

My sister, Sandy, for her faith and love. She believed in me even before I did. It is because of her that I got onstage the first time. Otherwise, I’d be a fifty-seven-year-old stereo salesman today.

My brother, Jeffrey, for his love, passion for perfection, and always doing everything in his power to protect me. In 1992, Jeff was my writing partner on
In Living Color
. In reality, Jeff did all of the writing.

Special thanks to Lee Kernis. The man who hid my kids at his house while I was on the lam. My personal manager. My friend. A real genuine guy. There will never be anyone like him again.

Thanks to Rick Greenstein and everyone at the Gersh Agency.

Thanks to everyone at Da Capo Press, especially Ben Schafer, Marnie Cochran, Renee Caputo, and Donna Moore. And David Vigliano and Kirby Kim of Vigliano and Associates.

Thanks to Keenan, Damon, Shawn, and Marlon Wayans for their support. I owe my last visit with my son to Keenan.

Thank you Lance Burton, Nivea Santiago, and the staff of the Monte Carlo for gambling on me by letting me onstage while I was still going through treatment.

Thanks to Howard Stern for all his support. He personally called me while I was in the hospital getting chemotherapy and asked if I thought I’d make it to New Year’s Eve. Because he had me in the death pool, and Robin had Anthony Quinn.

Bob and Tom, Lamont Tonelli, and all of the radio show hosts who called and kept me alive with my fans by putting me on the air during my hospital visits.

Tom Cruise. He visited my son Derek at Children’s Hospital during the filming of
Days of Thunder.
There was no entourage with him. No publicist. No paparazzi. Just Tom. Just him spending time with my little boy. Thanks, Tom.

Carey Strom, M.D. For his heartfelt advice and friendship. He’s the only guy I’d feel comfortable giving me a colonoscopy in the privacy of his home.

Thanks to Vicki for taking such loving care of our son Derek. You devoted your entire life to him during his illness. You were not only his mother, but also his hospice nurse and advocate. Thank you for being understanding and for giving me the opportunity to spend quality time with my children while I was sick, and helping me get through my treatment.

Jay Leno, for his support when Derek was in the hospital. Jerry Lewis, the man who inspired me to become a comedian in the first place.

Also a special thanks to William E. McEuen, Bob Merlis, Jeff Gold, Russ Thyret, Martin Landau, Steve Martin, Alan Metter, Mike Scully, Ronnie Weinstein, Jay Rosenthal, Theodore Braich, M.D., John Camoriano, M.D., David Mulligan, M.D., David Douglas, M.D., Marc Golden, Michael Gendler, Jeff Glieberman, Penny Salomon, Rick Murdock, Budd Friedman, Ira Kurgan, Sandy Grushow, Dr. Peter Sheerin, Eric Gold, Rodney Dangerfield, Jerry Lewis, Robert Hartman, Dan Mer, Bill Blumenreich, Tim Sarkes, Billy Crystal, Conan O’Brien, and Mel Gibson.

Very special thanks to Alan Eisenstock. Without him, this book would not exist. Alan and I had a special bond right from the beginning. I learned that he also suffered the loss of a child. His son Zachary. I knew then that if there were anyone that could help me express my true feelings, he’d be the one. And he did. During our sessions together we both shared a lot of tears. Some from laughter. Some from memories. His passion for helping me tell my story in my words was never-ending. (Although a lot of the F-words were mysteriously taken out.)

And God. Who, after taking my only son, graced me threefold with three more sons in return. I am truly blessed!

Thank you, Robert, for your courage, your spirit, your passion, and for making me laugh longer and harder than anyone else ever has. You are an inspiration.

Thank you, Melissa, for being Robert’s rock, our driver, the mother of the year, the voice of reason, the keeper of the kingdom.

Thanks to David Vigliano, Kirby Kim, and Michael Harriot. Thanks to everyone at Da Capo Press, especially Ben Schafer, Marnie Cochran, and Renee Caputo.

Thank you, David Ritz.

Thanks to Shirley and Jim Eisenstock; Madeline and Phil Schwarzman; Susan Pomerantz and George Weinberger; Susan Baskin and Richard Gerwitz; Loretta, Brian, Linda, Lorraine, Diane, Alan, Chris, Ben, and Nathan; Art Goldman; Edwin Greenberg and Elaine Gordon; Linda Nussbaum; Bruce and Judy Levitt; Linda Bowen; Kathy Montgomery and Jeff Chester; Randy Turtle; Randy Feldman; David Goodman and Wendy Felson; David Perren; Joyce Barkin; Diane Golden; Judi Farkas; Bob Vickrey; Tony Koursaris of Taverna Tony in Malibu, our office; and Katie O’Laughlin and her incredible staff at Village Books in Pacific Palisades, my hangout.

Thanks always to the Miracles—Bobbie, Jonah, and Kiva.

Finally, thanks to my constant companion, Snickers the Wonder Dog, who loves everything I write and laughs at everything I say. At least I think she does.